Birds
by inu382
Summary: "It's going to suck without you here," Damien griped. "What do you mean? I'm always here," Kenny replied. "Not after this one," Damien said. Suddenly, Kenny woke up to Bebe and Butters standing above him, mirroring worried looks. Overhead, the birds flew and they were beautiful and Kenny was no longer immortal. Sequel to "Bromance is for Pussies". Style/Candy/Bunny/Benny
1. Flowers

It's finally here. The sequel! I'll work on the mini stories in between, but I need to work on this now.

I apologize that this took so long to write. I was seriously uninspired and the first version of this chapter was bollocks. After Chapter 16 of "Bromance," I really never want to write a bad chapter again.

* * *

_All the stars up in the sky and leaves in the trees...all the broken bits that make you trip up and the grassy bits in between...all the matter in the world, that's how much that I like you._

_She said, what?_

_He said, let me try and explain again._

_Right, birds can fly so high and they can shit on your head, yeah. They can almost fly into your eye and make you feel so scared, but when you look at them and you see that they're beautiful...that's how I feel about you._

_Right, that's how I feel about you._

_She said, what are you talking about?_

_He said...You._

_She said, thanks. I like you, too._

_He said, cool._

* * *

"Later, dude!" Kyle called as he, Cartman, and Kenny walked away from Stan's house.

A ten year old Stan Marsh waved at them from his porch. When it looked as though they were well on their way, Stan went back inside, shutting the door.

_Finally_, he thought. In the very corners of his vision, Stan could see everything turning to shit. With a sigh, Stan trudged upstairs, opened his 'special cabinet,' and poured himself a drink. One shot had long since stopped working. Usually, it took Stan three shots in order for him to feel any better. But today had been especially trying, so Stan figured today was a finish-the-bottle kind of day.

Stan poured his fourth shot. Some part of him wondered if all this drinking would kill him. Some part of him figured he ought to be more worried about his premature death. The majority had stopped caring.

Around his seventh shot, Stan thought he heard the door open, but he couldn't be sure.

"Hey, Stan. I think I left my—_Stan_?! Stan, are you _drinking_?!"

Blearily, Stan watched Kyle stalk over and wrench the bottle out of his grip. Stan pouted, reflexes too slow to really respond.

"What _is_ this, Stan?!" the Jew demanded.

"It's whiskey," Stan replied.

"I know what it fucking is! _Why_ are you _drinking_ it?! I thought we were through this!"

"Because life sucks," Stan replied. "And that," Stan pointed to the bottle, "makes it bearable."

"I can't _believe_ you!" Kyle seethed.

"Are you gonna walk away again?" Stan asked abruptly.

Disturbed, Kyle frowned. "What?"

"Last time I was really drunk, I told you I loved you, and you walked away. Are you gonna walk away again? I know I said 'fuck you,' but I was really hoping you wouldn't actually walk away. If you are, do it now. It really sucked last time. I'm too drunk right now for it to hurt, so if you are, do it now."

Stan turned to his bed, stumbling. Deftly, Kyle caught the brunet's arm and helped the other boy to the bed. Kyle carefully laid Stan down turning the other on his side. Quickly, Kyle ran to the bathroom, grabbed a bucket, and sprinted back. Stan had sat himself up, his face visibly brightening as Kyle returned.

"You're not walking away, are you?" Stan asked, worry creeping into his sluggish words.

"No, Stan," Kyle replied, something in him aching. Gently, he laid Stan back down. Kyle took his own shoes off and joined Stan on the bed, spooning behind the brunet and wrapping an arm around Stan's waist. Sleepily, Stan smiled, his arm resting on Kyle's, fingers interlaced. In reply, Kyle tightened his arm around Stan.

"Never again," Kyle promised.

* * *

Bebe watched from the hallway as another creepy man dropped her mother off at home. She wasn't used to all these unattractive men dating her mother; something had changed, and now her mother was only attractive these disgusting men that leered at anything that could develop breasts. Her mother always refused to allow the men inside their own home, and Bebe wasn't too stupid to figure out why. She remembered when she'd first started developing and the boys all acted like apes around her.

It didn't take much to deduce that those men could probably act much worse.

"Mom," Bebe muttered when the woman tiredly entered the house. "Why are you going on dates with those losers?"

Bebe's mother smiled at her forlornly. "I'm…not as young as I used to be. Remember how I told you that I developed first, and all the boys crowded around me and gave me whatever I liked?"

Bebe nodded. She also remembered that it robbed her mother of any real intelligence. Instead of her mother studying and making something of herself, Bebe's mother used her breasts to get to where she was.

Apparently, that place was dating disgusting old men.

"Well, I suppose I'm to blame; I'm not as beautiful and…_perky_ as I once was."

"You should have studied," Bebe replied, accusation lining her words.

"I have always relied on the kindness of others."

Bebe frowned—those words always spelled trouble. Bebe couldn't afford to be anything like her mother. While she couldn't hide her body anymore, she could at least make sure the guys she dated weren't only interested in her body. It was essential that she never depend on any man's kindness, because it always came with a price. She'd told Wendy as much on the phone later that evening, when her mother had gone on another "date."

"How about Kyle?" Wendy suggested, absently checking her nails. "He's such a nice guy. Remember how he didn't want to know how he was second on our 'hottest boys' list? He doesn't care about looks at all. And he's super smart. I'm still trying to figure out how he's beating me out, grade-wise."

"Kyle…" Bebe whispered and smiled to herself.

Yeah, Kyle _was_ nice.

* * *

"It all looks like shit to me."

Kyle smiled encouragingly at Stan. "I know. We'll work on that."

Three days had passed since Stan woke up in Kyle's arms, hung over and miserable. His head was exploding, his stomach was churning, and his bladder was set to burst; but Stan had never felt quite so loved as he did that morning, so he stayed put until Kyle woke up and mumbled something about Stan taking a shower.

"Join me?" Stan had asked, voice hoarse.

Kyle just laughed.

Since then, the red-head had not left Stan's side. Morning, day, and night, Kyle was there to try to cheer Stan up. Though Kyle hadn't had much luck, Stan was growing more and more hopeful himself.

After all, Kyle was still there.

"Why is everything shit to you?"

"There's just no point, Kyle," Stan replied morosely. "What do I have to look forward to? We live in a system we can't change, in a town we can't change, with families that refuse to change. We're gonna be stuck in this awful limbo forever. That's maddening, Kyle."

Frowning, Kyle grabbed Stan's hand and walked to Stark's pond. They stood in front of the still lake for a while, until Kyle tossed a rock in.

"See the ripples?" Kyle asked.

"Don't you dare Pocahontas me, Broflovski."

"No, idiot," Kyle smiled. "Really. Pay attention. One tiny rock sent out all those ripples to almost the edge of the lake. Stan, if you don't make the effort to see what's worthwhile about life, nothing _will_ be worthwhile. If you don't want something, nothing will happen. The lake stays still when nothing happens to it. But when there is a small catalyst, like that rock—like your motivation—then ripples happen. Then you see something worth living for."

"I'm ten, Kyle," Stan reasoned. "I shouldn't be thinking about that stuff."

"Age doesn't matter, dude," Kyle shrugged. "You're worrying about this a little early. So what? C'mon, let's go find something you'll appreciate."

"Like what?"

"Like flowers. Let's go look at some pretty flowers."

Stan sighed, but followed regardless. Vaguely, he realized he hadn't let go of Kyle's hand. In the back of his mind, he registered that his hand was a little sweaty and he desperately hoped Kyle wouldn't notice, but their hands fit perfectly.

* * *

Kenny had noticed something was off with the universe when Stan suddenly aged. He felt they'd been nine forever, but suddenly, Stan turned ten and change had nearly happened.

And then it stopped again.

Kenny wasn't stupid. He knew it would take something monumental to stop whatever trap they were stuck in. Kenny kept dying and coming back; Cartman never lost weight; Kyle never caught up with the times; Stan was always amazed at how much more stupid the world around him was. However, suddenly Stan started seeing the world as shit and right when their cycle was supposed to break…

South Park struck again.

Just like it did when Kyle moved. Just like it did when Kenny died for longer than a day. Just like it did when Cartman had changed. _Just like always_.

One day, though, the shift occurred again. Unlike Stan's birthday, the shift was subtle and nearly imperceptible. But, as Kenny watched from the top of South Park's police office in his Mysterion outfit, he could _see_ the changes happening.

Mr. Garrison was a man again and this time, he didn't chase down Mr. Slave. He'd talked to Slave and Big Gay Al and apologized for his behavior. Slave and Al understood and, since then, the three have enjoyed a mutually beneficial friendship; Garrison had even lined up a date with a man from another town for the weekend.

Sharon and Randy Marsh agreed that divorce was a bad idea for the sake of their children, but decided to see a marriage counselor; three weeks in, their counselor had suggested frequent date nights so that the two adults could fall back in love. They were walking home now, hand in hand, Sharon's cheeks red and Randy smiling bashfully at her.

The movie theater guy moved. He fucking _moved_. He finally finished school, lost all the acne, and moved out of South Park to go to college.

Kenny was so sure that the change had halted, but then again, he hadn't noticed the signs with Stan. Stan, who'd become and alcoholic—Kenny was sure that the world wouldn't change anymore, but then Kyle found him. Suddenly, the world was a little brighter and things started happening in earnest around town.

And it all started the moment Kyle held Stan.

Kenny was tempted to kill himself again, to see if he would come back, but he instinctively knew that the world hadn't changed that much. Still, whatever hold South Park had on the lives of him and his friends was slowly loosening and the shift was impossible to ignore.

Glancing around, Kenny noticed that Kyle had dragged Stan to the park to look at the flowers. The flowers all probably looked like shit to Stan, but then, Stan wasn't looking at the flowers. As Kyle bent down to sniff at the petunias, hand still clasped with Stan's, Stan stared down at their interlocked digits. Seemingly mesmerized by the sight, Stan didn't seem to be paying much attention to anything. Kyle stood back up and encouraged Stan to smell the flowers, too, and Stan did so mechanically. Kenny moved closer, hoping to catch strings of their conversation.

"See, they don't _smell _like shit, do they?" Kyle asked brightly.

"…No," Stan replied, sounding odd, "they…they don't."

"Is something wrong, Stan?"

Stan stood back up and stared strangely at the Jew. "They smelled like shit yesterday. When you told me to come alone, they smelled like shit."

"What about now?" Kyle murmured quietly.

Stan smiled—it was minute and strained, but it was the first real smile Kenny had seen on the brunet's face in a long time.

"They…smell like flowers. They look like flowers. Kyle, I can smell the flowers!"

Kyle cheered and offered his hand to high-five Stan, but Stan lunged forward and hugged the red-head desperately. Bemused, Kyle wrapped his arms around Stan regardless. They stood there, Stan's head tucked in the crook of Kyle's shoulder. The Jew never once pushed him away, rubbing soothing circles on the small of Stan's back.

"I can smell the flowers," Stan repeated.

His humor returning, Kyle smirked. "I think we established that, Stan."

"It's because of you," the brunet replied instead.

Kyle frowned. "What?"

"I tried," Stan sighed, "I tried really hard to not see the world for the absolute hell it is. When you walked away from me the first time…I didn't see a point; I stopped trying and just depended on the alcohol because I had nothing else. But, you're here now and you haven't left and _I can smell the flowers, Kyle_."

Kenny's eyes widened in understanding as Kyle's narrowed in thought.

"I'm never leaving again, Stan."

"I love you, Kyle."

The Jew grinned, his arms tightening around his friend. "I love you, Stan."

"Kyle, I _love_ you," Stan insisted.

"Well, I love you more," Kyle replied.

But Kyle still didn't understand. That was fine, Kenny mused, turning to patrol the rest of the city.

As long as Kyle kept holding Stan's hand, it would all be fine.

* * *

Bebe and Kyle had been spending a lot of time together, lately, Stan mused. For a while now, Stan had been hanging out more with Kenny, somehow frustrated whenever Bebe showed up at Kyle's. Their sleepovers were becoming fewer and farther in between and Kyle was starting to notice.

Twelve year old Stan couldn't offer much of an explanation, though.

"Kenny," Stan began, smiling at the blond, "Wanna come over today?"

Kenny grinned. "Always, dude."

They walked away, Stan glancing back at Kyle, who was waiting by the school exit for Bebe and glaring holes into Stan. Stan was about to turn around to apologize and invite Kyle, but Bebe walked out and hugged Kyle and Kyle was forced to look away. Bitterly, Stan huffed and started talking to Kenny.

Kenny grinned, knowing that Stan was jealous of Bebe and Kyle. Still, Cartman had been angry lately—more than usual—and had been spending all this time at the gym. At first, none of them thought Cartman would actually manage anything or that he was trying to cheat his way into some scheme, but the overweight boy had lost ten pounds in the last two weeks alone. Either way, that left Kenny mostly alone until Stan had decided to spend more time with the blond boy.

Things were moving forward, Kenny noticed, and perhaps that meant Stan's feelings for Kyle had subsided and he didn't know how to behave around Kyle anymore. Kenny shrugged when Stan asked for his opinion on Bebe, but managed to make the brunet laugh at one of his jokes, and Kenny was treated to Stan's crystalline eyes sparkling beautifully.

"You're the best, Ken," Stan chuckled. "I love you, man."

And then Kenny realized that he loved Stan, too.

_Shit_, Kenny thought morosely, even as he grinned at Stan as happily as he could.

* * *

"Why have you been avoiding me?" Kyle demanded, glaring at his super best friend.

"I…I just needed to figure some stuff out, Kyle," Stan replied miserably, hands in his pockets.

The Jew's eyes twitched behind his large, thick glasses. He was wearing _suspenders_, Stan noticed with some mirth—as if he were ninety instead of twelve. Kyle was quite simply the geekiest person in the seventh grade, but it didn't stop Stan from feeling strange.

Attracted-to-Kyle strange.

He'd tried to distance himself from the Jew and, as a result, spent more time with an indulgent Kenny. Stan glanced at said blond, who sat at the bench a ways away from him and Kyle. They were supposed to be going to the movies—without Kyle—when the Jew had finally cornered Stan and demanded an explanation.

"I've been there through it all, Stan," Kyle hissed. "_Everything_, Stan! I'm your best friend and I love you more than anybody!"

Stan frowned. Kyle loved him? There was something wrong there.

"Please tell me," Kyle begged softly.

"I…" the brunet sighed, "I hate that Bebe is talking to you all the time."

Kyle's brows furrowed. "What?"

"I dunno, man," Stan groaned, running anxious fingers through his hair, "She's always around. It bugs me. I guess…I guess I thought that since Bebe was worming her way in, I should try hanging out with other friends?"

Kyle's eyes narrowed as he stared at Stan in contemplation. Finally, he flicked Stan's forehead.

"Liar. You were always terrible at lying. I know you don't like Bebe, but we're just friends. And even if we were dating, I've dealt with you and Wendy just fine. Please, the truth."

Finally, Stan shook his head sadly. "I don't know, Kyle."

"What?"

"I don't know. I just feel weird around you. I get mad when you spend time with Bebe instead of me and I know that's crap because I don't _own_ you, but… And then, I feel like I have to be around you at all times and I think…you were there for me when I needed you most and if not for you, the world would still look like shit. I think I'm scared of you going away from me because what if it all comes back? What if you're the only thing keeping me sane?"

Kyle blinked and swallowed nervously.

"Stan, do you like me?"

Stan's cheeks flushed. "I…huh?"

"Do you like me?"

"Kyle…I love you."

Kyle nodded. "How?"

Stan looked away uncomfortably. "You're my everything. I love my family and I love Kenny, but you…you've got your own tier, dude."

Kyle bit his lip. "What I'm about to say is going to sound really, really gay, but… Stan, you're my everything, too. You've been there for me for everything and I would be lost without you. I love my family and Kenny, also, but… But, dammit Stan, you mean the world to me. You're like my brother, but more than that. I love you, too, Stan. When you figure out what's going on, don't hesitate to tell me; but don't shut me out, either.

I will never leave you again, Stan," Kyle urged, his hand reaching for Stan's and clinging desperately. Stan's fingers tightened in reply. "Don't try to leave me. We'll figure this out together."

Stan smiled, nodding. "Even if I have a boner for you?"

Kyle cracked and laughed, the tension in the air finally dissipating. "Even if you're harboring some gay crush on me. We'll go on a few dates!"

Stan laughed and hugged Kyle, who easily hugged the brunet back.

"Is that a sonic screwdriver in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Kyle quipped.

"Both!"

As they laughed, Kenny sat on the bench watching them. An odd feeling he'd been feeling more and more often stirred in his chest as Kenny watched his time with Stan ending. He'd gotten spoiled, Kenny had. Since Stan's feelings had begun manifesting and confusing the brunet enough to ignore Kyle, Stan and Kenny had spent more time together.

Somewhere along the way, Kenny realized that Stan Marsh was pretty much the greatest person in existence.

But then Bebe showed up and Stan was torn between continuing to ignore Kyle and antagonizing the Jew for spending time with the blonde girl. Eventually, Kyle's stubbornness won and now Kenny was alone.

Again.

And, with every brilliant smile Stan flashed at Kenny, Kenny had fallen just a little more in love and had grown resentful of Kyle. Kyle, who was still a great friend and who cared about Kenny more than anyone had before—until Stan paid Kenny more attention, that is—was completely blind. Kenny scowled at the boys as they continued to joke around, the idea of their being in a relationship apparently amusing enough to spawn a fake relationship where Wendy would be the surrogate mother of their child.

Kyle was just _so damn blind_. Couldn't he _see_? Couldn't _anyone_ see? How many times did Stan have to say he loved Kyle before the damn Jew _fucking got it_? How could someone as perfect as _Stanley fucking Marsh_ just _fall_ right into Kyle _blind-as-fuck_ Broflovski's lap and how could Kyle _not see it_? It was maddening!

But as Kyle and Stan walked over, and as Kyle bid them both goodbye and encouraged them to enjoy their outing—"I have homework, dude! Don't worry about me!" he'd insisted when Stan asked if Kyle wanted to join—Kenny realized he had no right to judge Kyle.

Kenny had been blind, too; he'd been blind to Stan's charms until the brunet was stuck with him and now that he was realizing his own feelings, he wanted to be selfish and keep Stan to himself. So, he smiled as best he could—though it wasn't real anymore—and promised Kyle they'd hang out together soon. As they watched the Jew leave, Kenny turned to Stan and took in the abnormally somber expression on the brunet's face.

"So…you guys are pretty gay," Kenny said, breaking the silence as diplomatically as he could.

"Yeah," Stan agreed, a slow smile spreading on his face. "We are."

Kenny nodded and he knew: Stan Marsh was in love with Kyle Broflovski.

And very much not in love with Kenneth McCormick.

But, Kenny mused as they walked away from the park, passing by his graves that his family couldn't fit in the cemetery, Stan would still need time to let those feelings form and, in the meantime, Kenny would be there to spend time with him. Stan didn't need to know how Kenny felt just yet and Kyle didn't need to know how Stan felt.

That didn't stop time from marching forward.

* * *

Thirteen year old Stan couldn't stop staring at his reflection.

He was _thirteen_. When did that _happen_?

"Hey, man!" he heard, and turned to smile at Kyle, who had poked his head into the bathroom. "Checking yourself out?"

"It's been a while," Stan replied. "I never realized how handsome I was with all that cynicism crap; I'm damn sexy."

Kyle laughed, stopping beside Stan and laying a hand on the brunet's shoulder. "Yeah, you're one sexy beast."

"My birthday is tomorrow."

Kyle started. "Uh, yeah?"

"I'm turning fourteen and we're going to high school."

"Yes, that's usually the way things go." Kyle laughed.

"Kyle…weren't we nine years old for, like, ten years?" Stan asked, brows furrowed.

Kyle was about to deny it, but then he thought about it. Frowning, he realized that he _did_ indeed feel older than fourteen, as if he'd spent a strangely long amount of time as a child. In fact, it wasn't until Stan's tenth birthday that Kyle realized _he_ was already ten himself.

"I…yeah, you're right, actually."

"There's something weird about this place," Stan muttered. "Like South Park just stops time. Everything comes here eventually, but time doesn't move. Then, all of a sudden, time starts and we basically fast-forward to twelve. I'm just amazed that I'm still aging."

Kyle nodded, staring at the wall. "…Remember when I tried to move?"

"I'd rather not," Stan replied.

"But, do you?"

"Of course."

"I came back. It's like everything in the world just happened in such a way to bring me back. Like…I wasn't _allowed_ to leave."

Stan frowned, remembering the sudden emergence of hybrid cars and of the smug storm. The adults were indeed prone to stupidity, but it seemed to happen in excess in South Park.

"We have to leave," Stan whispered.

"We _will_," Kyle swore. "You, me, Kenny, and even Cartman. We'll get the hell out of here."

Stan nodded and smiled at Kyle through the mirror. "Even Cartman, huh?"

Kyle grinned, albeit a little bitterly, "Not even fatass deserves to be stuck here."

"I'm going to be fourteen, Kyle," Stan repeated.

"The world isn't shit, Stan," Kyle replied.

Stan smiled, staring directly into Kyle's emerald irises. "No, it's not. It's just different."

Things had indeed changed, Stan thought. Now that high school had started, Kyle's style was entirely different from what it used to be. Contacts, tight jeans, Oxford shoes, and expensive-looking vests composed the majority of the Jew's closet nowadays. Stan smiled at himself in the mirror, his bangs just above his eyes. His black button down was open, revealing a dark blue shirt with an odd, red design on it. His glanced down at his high-top sneakers and skinny, dark jeans.

Cartman wasn't fat anymore and he was going to be Stan's lineman. Kenny got a job and was starting to buy himself clothes and food. Stan's parents had decided they no longer needed counseling and were doing great, as far as Stan could see. There were new teachers who came to the town who weren't there just because one of their teachers died.

But Kyle was still by his side—that had never changed. Not once, since Kyle had caught Stan drunk that day, had Kyle ever strayed far from Stan's side. Even as Stan tried to push him away in the midst of his confusion, Kyle had been persistent. And, in the end, Stan had finally realized why Bebe rubbed him the wrong way.

Bebe was clearly getting to know Kyle and things were moving towards Kyle and Bebe being in a relationship and it bugged Stan because he was head-over-heels, absolutely gaga in love with Kyle.

"By the way, why did you and Wendy break up this time?" Kyle asked, fixing his hair in the mirror.

Stan smiled fondly at the Jew. "I realized something important. We just weren't for each other."

Kyle leaned back and looked at Stan, eyebrow raised. They stared at each other, an easy smile on Stan's lips.

"But _we__'__re _perfect for each other," Kyle finally said.

"Soul mates, even," Stan responded cheekily. He walked out of the bathroom, humming to himself. Kyle watched him go, convinced something significant had just happened, but unsure of what it was. That evening, when Stan's parents had gone and the entire class came over for Stan's midnight celebration, Kyle found himself humming the same song. Bebe sat beside him and handed him a drink, smiling at him.

"What are you humming?" she had asked.

Eyebrows raising, Kyle realized he hadn't really thought of what the song was until she'd asked.

"It's called _Eres Para Mi. _It's a Spanish song. Stan was humming it and it got stuck in my head," he shrugged.

"What does that mean?" Bebe wondered—she was taking Italian after all, unlike Stan and Kyle.

Kyle blinked and remembered Stan's mysterious smile and mischievous blue eyes. With a laugh, he shook his head.

"It's means, 'you are for me'."

_Soul mates, indeed_, Kyle thought, and didn't mind it when they played truth or dare and Cartman dared Stan to french kiss Kyle. Stan leaned back and laughed, a red flush across his cheeks. Slightly embarrassed, Kyle wiped his lips, but offered Stan a confident smile.

"You fags should just get a room," Cartman muttered, not expecting Stan and Kyle to actually go through with the dare and thoroughly disgusted—even more so when Kenny, holding a pillow firmly to his lap, excused himself to the bathroom. Later that evening, when everyone had passed out around the living room and Stan and Kyle were laying in Stan's bed, Cartman and Kenny asleep on Stan's floor, Stan poked Kyle's ribs.

"Are we okay?" Stan whispered. "I should've asked before I kissed you."

Kyle grinned, leaned over, and pecked his best friend on the lips. "_T__ú __eres para m__í__,_ baby. Of course we're cool. I mean, as long as you plan on taking me to dinner tomorrow. I'm not that easy."

Stan snickered quietly, shoved Kyle so that the Jew was facing the window, then spooned against him. "Five star restaurant, I promise."

They chuckled quietly and just as Kyle's dreams started, Stan muttered something quietly in his ear. "Hm?" Kyle grunted.

"_Yo soy para ti_," Stan breathed, igniting an odd sensation in Kyle's chest.

"You charmer, you," Kyle laughed.

"Better warn Bebe she has competition."

Kyle chuckled, but he felt guilty for some reason.

It was forgotten in the morning, when they woke up to Cartman taking pictures of them and Kenny suspiciously holed up in the bathroom again. Years later, as an eighteen year old Stan sat against his headboard and Kyle lounged between the brunet's legs, Kyle realized it was because Bebe simply wasn't competition for Stan.

* * *

When Kenny McCormick was in seventh grade, he realized he had a die-hard crush on Stan Marsh. However, Stan only had eyes for Kyle Broflovski. So, Kenny nurtured Stan's obsession and did his best to stay clear.

It was better that way.

Years later, as Stan did his best to woo Kyle, Kenny sat in his bedroom with Butters Stotch and talked about how Kenny was a selfish idiot. The weight was lifted from Kenny's shoulders. So, he made a few mistakes in an effort to keep Stan to himself. It turned out for the best. In fact, Kenny was convinced it was one of the few things he did well.

Their first summer apart did wonders for everyone. Clyde managed to get published in a reputable literary magazine; Bebe came back from Cali with a tan and a new attitude; Butters came back excited and adorable; Shayna and Token contributed much in the way of improving some African children's lives; Cartman and Wendy survived their stay in Florida and were more in love than ever; Craig brought a caffeine-free Tweek back; Jimmy and Timmy really helped some handi-capable kids with no fatal shark attacks.

As for Stan and Kyle—they finally had sex. In Scotland, no less. They then proceeded to travel around Europe with Clyde (after conning another ten thousand from Tom Cruise) and had sex in:

1\. The bathroom of a theatre in Manchester, England

2\. The bottom of the Eiffel Tower in Paris, France

3\. The stony mountains of Kilvara, Ireland

4\. Somewhere in Greece. They were pretty drunk

5\. A nude beach in Italy, somewhere. Again, pretty drunk.

Kenny himself enjoyed his internship with Marvel and seemed to have a promising career as a cartoonist. In the end, it seemed that when the South Park children came back and met at Chef's grave to catch up, they had all been certain they could live without each other.

Which, of course, only meant that they needed to stick together even more. In the shade of the tree, the teenage population of South Park swore to stay in touch and to have biannual reunions, so as to never lose contact. As college neared and the threat of separation became imminent, the children agreed that now was the time to fortify relationships, to be with each other more, and to use their friendships to better themselves. They figured they didn't have much time together left.

_Man_, a thirty-six year old Kenneth McCormick mused as he stood in Kyle Marsh's backyard, Stan Marsh arguing with Eric Cartman over how to grill steak as Wendy Testaburger-Cartman and the rest of their graduating class watched (or egged them) on, _were we ever__ wrong._

* * *

Okay! There you have it! The first chapter of "Birds". I apologize that this took so long, but I received some pretty harsh criticism on chapter 16 of Bromance; don't get me wrong, I totally agree with what the reviewer said, but it made me want to try something outside of my comfort zone while also not making the same mistakes I made with Bromance. The characters are still very much themselves and this is still very much going to be a humor story, so don't worry about that.

If anybody's still reading, thanks again! I'll do my best to make the wait worthwhile!


	2. Call

Sorry for the extra long wait.

* * *

_Man_, a thirty-six year old Kenneth McCormick mused as he stood in Kyle Marsh's backyard, Stan Marsh arguing with Eric Eric over how to cook steak on a grill as Wendy Testaburger-Eric and the rest of their graduating class watched (or egged them) on, _were we ever wrong_.

* * *

Eighteen-year-old Kyle Broflovski smiled as he opened the front door to see his boyfriend, Stan Marsh. Stan was wearing a black hoodie, unzipped, with a Bronco's T-shirt under. Paired with Stan's worn blue jeans and his black vans, Kyle thought Stan looked amazing.

Of course, Stan always looked better naked.

"Hey, sexy," Kyle greeted with a smirk. Stan chuckled, leaning down to peck Kyle on the lips, before he invited himself into the Broflovski home.

"Hey, beautiful. How goes?"

"You just saw me thirty minutes ago," Kyle raised a brow, "Not much has changed since then."

"Your clothes," Stan argued, looking down at what the Jew was wearing.

Earlier, Kyle had been wearing a white button down shirt with a gray vest, black slacks, and a pair of gray and black Dickies. Kyle's hair had been gelled down and stuffed under a black beanie, so that the red wouldn't clash. Now, Kyle's hair was back in its chaotic Jew-fro and he wore one of Stan's old wife-beaters with a pair of red cotton pajama bottoms.

Kyle laughed. "I felt like getting comfortable."

"I can get you more comfortable," Stan replied, eyebrows wiggling lasciviously.

"Sorry, Stan, you're going to have to wait," a female voice replied, and Stan flushed as he turned and saw a smiling Mrs. Broflovski.

"Uh, sure…." the brunet muttered shyly. Kyle snorted.

"Thank you for chaperoning Ike's sleep over, Kyle," Sheila continued, unhinged.

"No problem, mom. I'll just be upstairs doing homework, anyway."

"Make sure that's all you do," Sheila replied sternly, "If Stan is here to distract you, it may be best that he leaves."

Stan grinned. "I promise I'll be a good boy, Mrs. Broflovski. Are you going somewhere?"

The Jewish mother nodded. "Your parents seemed to be getting along so much better, Gerald and I decided to take their advice. We're going on a couple's weekend alone, but I completely forgot that this was the weekend Ike wanted to have a sleepover. I trust my boys, but I would feel better if someone was here to watch them."

"And, luckily, Kyle has no life outside of me," Stan said cheekily.

Kyle was quick to punch Stan—"Ow, dude!"—before turning to his mother again. "Really, mom, don't worry. I'm here, Stan's here; we'll be fine."

Sheila sighed again before hugging both boys with a grin. "Be good, boys!" She hugged Ike once he descended the stairs and joined Gerald as the older man walked to the car. With a final wave goodbye, the boys watched Kyle's parents drive away.

"Are you really gonna chaperone me?" Ike asked once the car was out of view.

"Are you getting alcohol?" Kyle retorted.

"…Not…anymore?"

Stan rolled his eyes. "I had whiskey at ten. Kyle, you and Ike smoked weed at eight and two. Ike's, like, twelve years old now. He can totally handle hard liquor."

"No, dude, I'm not gonna have my baby brother drink with his friends and make a mess of the house," Kyle frowned.

"C'mon, Kyle!" Ike begged. "Please?"

Stan smiled. "I'll help set everything up; they have a blast down here, we go have sex. Win, win for everybody."

Kyle stared hard at them for a while before sighing; Stan and Ike cheered. "Fine, okay. _But_, if my brother dies, it's your fault, Stan. And Ike: first of all, you owe me. Second of all, none of you walks in on Stan and me."

"Like I want to see my brother getting boned," Ike said, nose scrunching in disgust as he walked back inside.

"How do you know I'm the bottom?!" Kyle pouted, following the Canadian.

Stan laughed. "Kyle, it's your turn to bottom anyway."

Less than two hours later, the party was in full gear downstairs; upstairs, Stan and Kyle were cuddled in the Jew's bed. Stan mindlessly flipped through the channels as Kyle read a book. Surreptitiously, Stan glanced down at his lover and smiled softly; Kyle flipped a page and Stan pulled the red-head closer, hugging Kyle tighter. Contently, Stan inhaled the scent of Kyle's shampoo and kissed the other boy's forehead.

Kyle blinked. "Okay, what's wrong?'

"Kyle?"

"I love you, Stan, but I know your tells. This isn't you being romantic. This is you being worried. What's wrong?"

"…I was just thinking," Stan replied, voice dull.

Immediately, Kyle became more worried. The Jew sat up, trying to catch Stan's eye. "Stan, tell me."

The brunet sighed. "I…I got offered a football scholarship…"

Kyle smiled, bemused, "That's…that's great! Where to? Somewhere on the east coast?"

Stan grimaced and shook his head. "Indiana. Uh…I got an offer from Notre Dame for a full ride."

Kyle's jaw fell slack.

"I guess they sent some scouts and they liked what they saw. I…I don't know that I'm going to take it, yet, because my first choice hasn't replied to my application, yet."

"Where is your first choice?" Kyle asked quietly.

Stan bit his lip. "University of California, in San Diego."

Kyle struggled to keep his voice calm, though he was panicking inside. "I, uh, I thought we were both going to aim for schools on the east coast. So we could be near each other."

Stan looked away. "I…I don't think I'm gonna get into Harvard like you, Kyle. And the school in Maryland rejected me. I don't know how much chance I have in UC if another Ivy League denied me, but...I don't know, Kyle. I don't want to go too far away, either."

Kyle let out a shuddery breath.

"Did…?" the brunet whispered.

"Harvard, you mean?"

Stan nodded.

"Yeah," Kyle whispered. "They, uh, offered me a full ride."

"…What do we do now, Kyle?"

Kyle leaned back, letting his head fall against Stan's chest. Stan's arms wove around Kyle and the brunet leaned back, resting on Kyle's headboard. Abruptly, Kyle remembered a silly Truth-or-Dare game; Kyle remembered Stan's kiss, and how it make Kyle feel; and Kyle felt guilty, because he'd loved the kiss and still dated Bebe when Bebe—while fantastic—still couldn't hold a candle to Stan. And because Kyle couldn't figure it out; because Stan might have been leaving Kyle permanently; because Kyle didn't want to think anymore, the Jew twisted around and forcefully kissed his boyfriend, sneaking his tongue in when Stan gasped.

Kyle's advantage lasted seconds, before Stan took control and rolled them over, hand already playing at the hem of Kyle's pants.

"You know," Stan breathed against Kyle's neck, "You won't be able to solve all our problems with sex, much as I appreciate the gesture."

Kyle chuckled. "Bet you I can solve all our problems with just one good snog."

Stan grinned, pulling _his_ shirt off _his _boyfriend.

"Deal."

* * *

The day Kenny knew he was no longer immortal didn't start off as momentous in any way. In fact, it was the middle of their senior year when he realized that he'd no longer be able to come back to life. The events of his final death (well, penultimate death…) seemed like a dream until he avoided certain death by dodging a truck.

His final death had been seemingly normal and random—though adventure-related—as per usual. Spring break had arrived, so Kenny invited Bebe and Butters out to hang out.

"Both of them?" Kyle had asked, fingers flying over the PS3 controller (the aftermath of the Xbox One/PS4 wars had left Kyle scarred and unwilling to play any of the aforementioned systems). He and Kenny had enjoyed a day away from all their other friends, deciding that some time with each other was in order.

"Yeah," Kenny shrugged, "I think they both like me and I don't want to prefer one over the other just yet."

Kyle frowned. "You can't lead them on like that, Ken."

"I know!" the blond sighed, performing a move cancel and beating Kyle's character; they watched Chie Satonaka cheer for a bit before they put their controllers down.

"I know better than anyone," Kenny muttered, facing Kyle. "But I just can't see the end of this. They're both so amazing. How am I supposed to choose?"

"There's a difference between liking someone and loving someone," Kyle smiled softly. "It's not easy to tell the difference before you're absolutely sure—I would know—but once you feel it, it's definite."

Kenny hummed speculatively, then nudged Kyle's shoulder. "Maybe I should have fallen in love with you."

The red head laughed. "I _am_ getting tired of Stan."

"Run away with me!" Kenny grinned, easily picking up the Jew in his arms. "The goddess of sex and war will bless all my endeavors because I have slutty armor!"

Kyle smirked, playing along. "Slutty armor? You can't seek the goddess' favor with a costume! Slutty isn't what you wear—slutty is in the heart!"

"Kyle, do you think I was born with these dick-sucking lips? I sucked endless dick for years! I've talked off the mountain! Fisted the wind! _I've had things up in me that men tremble to name_!"

And it was about then that Kyle's dad walked into the room—and promptly fainted.

Kenny and Kyle stared at Gerald as he lay on the ground, Kyle still in Kenny's arms. They stared for a while, and Kyle idly kicked his legs as they waited.

"Your dad has issues, man," Kenny finally said. "I hadn't even gotten to the part where I described my slutty armor to you." (1)

Kyle had laughed. "I love you, Kenny. Figure out who else loves you."

And Kenny had hoped that this latest outing would provide more answers in choosing who he loved most, but instead, some fanatics kidnapped Butters—convinced he was their Messiah—and Bebe and Kenny had to go save him. As they escaped the underground compound, they encountered Manbearpig, who refused to let them pass. Kenny threw himself at Manbearpig in a rage and promptly died.

Kenny opened his eyes, seeing the familiar ceiling of hell.

"Oh, there you are," Damien glanced at him from the other side of the couch Kenny was lying on. The blond sat up and mildly glared at Damien. Usually his arrivals in hell were much more comfortable.

"What's with you?" Kenny finally asked, when the frosty silence endured longer than he anticipated.

Damien's face lost it's guardedness; vulnerable dark eyes looked at Kenny and Kenny gulped, unused to seeing the prince of hell so sad. For a few seconds, they stared at each other, but Kenny found he couldn't figure out what was wrong. Unnerved, the blond looked at his lap and gasped.

Kenny was translucent.

"What the hell's going on?"

"It's going to suck without you here," Damien griped.

"What do you mean? I'm always here," Kenny replied.

"Not after this one," Damien said.

Kenny's hand shook, his lips drawn together tightly as the possibilities crashed on his head.

"Not after this one?"

"Goodbye, Kenny," Damien smiled, albeit sadly, "Satan would've seen you off, but he's busy. He'll see you at his next party, though."

"_Not after this one?_" Kenny repeated, breaths short and uneven.

"I'll see you when it's time."

Suddenly, Kenny woke up to Bebe and Butters standing above him, mirroring worried looks. Overhead, the birds flew and they were beautiful…

And Kenny was no longer immortal.

"I'm alive." Kenny breathed, amazed.

"Kenny, are you okay?" Bebe asked frantically.

Butters frowned. "I can't believe we were able to revive you. Is everything all right?"

"I'm mortal," the blond replied.

Bebe and Butters looked at each other, expressions showing their confusion. Finally, understanding flashed across Butters' face and he smiled.

"Kenny can't come back anymore."

Eyes widening in realization, Bebe grinned down at the blond boy who lay sprawled on the street. "You're mortal like we're mortal, now? That means…"

Kenny's breath shuddered out of his lungs; useless muscle in his chest contracted, trying greedily to inhale what was just effused. Once, twice, until Kenny's chest finally expanded with air and Kenny's head became light with the possibilities.

"No more trucks hitting me. No more inadvertent deaths in the middle of swordfights. No more odd, crippling disabilities forcing me to kill myself; no more getting eaten; no more funerals; no more tombstones."

"No more death," Butters smiled. "Well, at least until you really die, anyway."

Suddenly, fear gripped Kenny's heart—colder than any of his deaths. "But I can't come back anymore if I die. If I died now, I'd die for good."

Bebe sat up, quickly unloading a few rounds of bullets onto oncoming fanatics still intent on getting Butters before she smiled down at Kenny. "But now you also get to live, Kenny. You don't have any excuse not to live to the fullest anymore."

"Now you have one life to live how you want and this life counts more than any of the other ones you've lost," Butters supplied, helping the other blond stand. "Now you get it."

Fear subsiding, Kenny smiled at his companions.

"Yeah. I get it, now."

* * *

"I've made my list!" Wendy cheered, sitting beside Eric on her bed. Her boyfriend laid back, his own list resting innocently on his broad chest.

"So, let's see what we've got," Eric replied lazily.

Wendy reached over and turned his list, glancing at the five messily written items. She grinned happily as she noted that three of his items matched three of hers.

"So, our middle ground universities are Harvard, Yale, and Brown."

"Brown is absolutely a last resort," Eric frowned.

"Of course," Wendy waved her hand absently. "No proper genius wants to go to Brown."

"So, Brown is our backup; have you already applied to Harvard and Yale?"

"No," Wendy scooted back, laying her head on Eric's chest. "I wanted to wait until Kyle applied so I would know what standard they would accept. If Kyle gets in, I'm guaranteed. Ever since we started studying together, we've been tied for Valedictorian."

Eric groaned. "Don't remind me."

Wendy and Kyle's study sessions—or study orgasms, as Eric referred to them—were the most boring two hours Eric had ever endured, only bested by the one time the boys had gone zip lining. At first, both Stan and Eric agreed that at least one of them should supervise their significant others to make sure the sheer intelligence in the room didn't somehow manifest itself into an anatomy lesson. But after two attempts to withstand the sheer dullness of the study sessions—not to mention the additional two hours spent cowering in a corner from Wendy's feminist wrath—Stan and Eric had mutually decided to trust their partners and to avidly avoid the "Study Room" at all costs.

It was still a point of frustration for Eric, though, who feared Kyle's influence on Wendy—something he dare not say to the brunette's face, unless he wanted another two-hour lecture on his inherent patriarchal tendencies.

Wendy smirked at him knowingly. "You know we barely talk during those sessions."

"Which is why I wonder what the point of it is."

Wendy shrugged. "We communicate in subspace."

"…Oh, my god, he's influenced you. He's got you reading _Scott Pilgrim_, isn't he?!" Eric cried.

A dark look settled on Wendy's face. "And what's wrong with that? Are you saying I wouldn't be interested of my volition and am only interested because Kyle said I should be?"

Eric, thankfully, knew when he'd put his steak-covered head in the lion's mouth.

"You know what? You're right. You can like anything you want and it has nothing to do with Kyle. So, about Harvard?"

Wendy smirked again. "I'll be getting in on my fantastic academic scores and impressive resume. You're not dumb, Eric, but you're also not the most dedicated student at school. How are you planning to get in?"

"Bribery and nepotism," Eric shrugged. "I have a few friends in high places."

Wendy gave him a side-long glance. "Mitch Conner?"

"Mitch Conner."

"Mitch Conner isn't even a real person, Eric."

"You tell that to my psychiatrist."

Wendy rolled her eyes. "Why are you even still seeing him?" The brunette gave him a licentious leer. "Far as I know, your TMI is very impressive nowadays."

Eric grinned back easily. "Do you feel like measuring it again?"

"For the sake of science, I do believe I am obligated."

* * *

It was a particularly trying day for fifteen year old Stan Marsh; one that had him sitting at Kyle's kitchen table, a bottle of whiskey staring back at him innocuously. As Bebe and Kyle continued their "not-quiet-a-relationship," Bebe monopolized more of Kyle's time and Stan was steadily beginning to feel abandoned. Today in particular, Kyle seemed to forget that he and Stan were supposed to spend the night together at Stan's. When the end of the day rolled around, and Stan stood excitedly outside waiting for _his_ best friend, Kyle strolled by with Bebe clinging to his arm.

He never even said bye.

Hoping that Kyle would still remember their arrangement, Stan had gone to Kyle's house, opened the door with the key that Kyle _trusted_ him with, and searched for the Jew. The house was empty now; Kyle's parents and his little brother had just left, bidding Stan goodbye before taking off to a trip to Canada for the weekend so he and Kyle could spend some time together.

A thoroughly pointless thought.

"One little drink wouldn't hurt…" Stan mumbled to himself, white-knuckled hands gripping the table.

Stan jumped as the front door swung open; hurriedly, he put away the whiskey and whipped around, expecting to see Kyle's mother come back for something she forgot.

"Hey, dude!" Kyle pouted, walking through the doorway. "You didn't wait for me after school. I went to your house looking for you like an idiot. Figures you'd be waiting for me here like a creeper."

Stan frowned. "_I _didn't wait for _you_? Bebe was…"

"Don't get me started," Kyle groaned. "I told her I couldn't hang out with her tonight or for the weekend cause it was our time, and she told me that she thinks I like you better than I like her. When I told her that, yes, I _do_ like you better, she dragged me out of the school to 'talk' about our relationship. I really like Bebe, but she's kind of…high maintenance."

Stan blinked. "So…you didn't ignore me?"

Kyle tilted his head, bemused. "Did I? If I did, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. You know I'd never do that if I could avoid it, right?"

Stan smiled shakily. "Y-Yeah…"

"You don't believe me!" Kyle gaped. He stormed over to Stan and smacked Stan's head; the brunet winced, but there wasn't much force behind the hit. "You asshole. Of course I'd never abandon you for Bebe. Even if she and I start going steady, you're my number one, right?"

The taller boy laughed, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Yeah, of course. You're my number one, too."

"I better be," the Jew smirked. "Now about engorging ourselves on pizza. I prefer meat lovers, sans ham."

As Kyle strode out of the kitchen, talking about what they could spend the weekend doing, Stan glanced back at the whiskey cabinet. Apparently, Stan had lingered too long.

"Stan?" the boy in question jumped, turning to see that Kyle was right beside him now. "Why are you staring at the alcohol cabinet?"

Stan swallowed, gaze turning away ashamedly. The silence answered Kyle.

"I see…did you drink any?"

The brunet shook his head.

"Oh…then, I'm proud of you." Kyle smiled, hugging a shocked Stan gently. "I know it's hard and I'm honestly surprised you haven't relapsed once. I'm proud you were able to stop yourself."

"I-It wasn't me," Stan admitted quietly, "I heard you come in and hid it."

Kyle grinned, pulling away. "Then I'll just have to be there every time you feel like you're about to drink."

"That sounds like a big commitment for a guy with a girlfriend like yours," Stan sighed bitterly.

Kyle shrugged. "She'll have to get used to it if she wants to date me. _You're_ my number one, Stan. Call me whenever you feel the need for a drink."

Stan nodded, smiling softly. "Thank you, Kyle."

"Now, let's go play some playstatio—"

"Kyle?"

Kyle paused, turning back to face a still immobile Stan. "Yeah, dude?"

"Why are you dating Bebe if she's high maintenance?"

The question seemed to confuse Kyle; it took several long moments before Kyle's mouth moved, only for the Jew to close his mouth again. Stan strained himself to watch every twitch in Kyle's face, hoping against hope that he would somehow be able to read an inkling of attraction on Kyle's face. Finally, Kyle made a sound of irritation.

"Aren't I supposed to?"

Stan started, bemused. "I…I don't know how to respond to that."

"What do you mean?"

"Isn't the answer usually supposed to be, 'I like her' or 'She's hot' or something? You make it sound like you're forcing yourself to date her."

Kyle bit his lip. "Can we not talk about this, Stan?"

Stan wanted to insist that they needed to talk about it; he wanted to demand answers from Kyle. Why would Kyle date someone out of a…a sense of duty? If he didn't even think of her attractiveness as a reason to date her, then Bebe really had nothing to offer Kyle that Stan couldn't offer in spades. Why would Kyle think of dating Bebe before dating Stan? Stan fortified himself—maybe Kyle needed to know Stan was an option before Kyle could consider it. If Stan could just _man up_ and tell Kyle how he felt—

_Ping!_

Whipping out his cellphone quickly, Stan glared mutinously at the text message he'd received.

'I wouldn't do that if I were you.—Kenny'

"Who's that?" Kyle asked, frowning.

"It's Kenny."

'Do what?' Stan texted back.

"What does Kenny want?" Kyle asked, and Stan was surprised to note a touch of bitterness in Kyle's tone.

"Aw, are you jealous that I'm hanging out with Kenny more often?" Stan grinned gleefully.

'Tell him how you feel. You'll end up driving him away' was the reply.

"_No_," Kyle snorted. "I just don't want anybody interfering with what should be our time."

Stan rolled his eyes, "Whatever you say, Kyle."

"Put the phone away, then."

Stan laughed, complying easily. "Hey, you wanna play strip poker?"

Kyle let out a startled chuckle. "Why the hell would we do that?"

Stan shrugged and sent Kyle a coy look before going upstairs, confident that Kyle would follow. Even if he couldn't profess his love for Kyle, it wouldn't hurt to start dropping _very obvious_ hints. Kenny was the wisest guy Stan knew, so it was probably best to follow his advice…with a few amendments.

"It's kind of hot, dude. We're gonna take our clothes off anyway. May as well have fun doing it," Stan defended.

The Jew snickered. "You're on, then. But you're gonna lose for sure. You can't win against Jews when money is involved."

As it figures, Stan lost pathetically to a visibly more embarrassed Kyle. As the night wore on and the pizza dwindled away, the unnatural heat of that spring night was excuse enough for Stan to strip naked and jump in Kyle's bed. After a few well-placed taunts, Kyle ended up stripping as well and joining the brunet. Hours later, when Bebe walked into the room and cursed a blue streak two miles wide at Kyle for cheating on her with Stan, the brunet really couldn't find it in himself to feel guilty.

But when Kyle's heartbroken and frightened green eyes begged Stan for help, there was now way Stan could refuse.

"_Fine_," Stan sighed the next day, discreetly eyeing Kyle's body for as long as he'd be able to, "I'll help you win her back."

"You're the best, Stan," Kyle smiled fondly.

"I know."

And for all of Stan's doubts about Kyle abandoning him; for all the time Kyle seemed to be spending with Bebe instead of Stan; for all the times Kenny would steer Stan away from telling Kyle what he really felt…

Well, Kyle never failed to show up whenever Stan needed a drink—whether or not Stan called him.

* * *

(1) If you don't already, I recommend reading the Oglaf comics. The inspiration for these lines came from the "Appeal to Heaven" strip.

Sorry this chapter is a bit short and a bit uninspired, but I need to get something out so I can get my mojo back. I'll probably come back to this chapter and change it later, but for now, I need to work through some stuff.


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